


Ruffled Feathers

by braeden



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Broody Derek, Established Relationship, First Times, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Mates, Morning After, Wedding Night, Werewolves, breaking dawn remix, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braeden/pseuds/braeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning after the wedding and Stiles can't figure out where the feathers came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruffled Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Breaking Dawn re-write. I own nothing. Not any of this. The only thing I did was changed names and certain phrases for my own amusement but the actual text and everything belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
> 
> This was inspired by a photoset on tumblr that unintentionally made it seem like Derek had feathers all over himself. It reminded me of the scene from Breaking Dawn.

Stiles didn't open his eyes. He was too happy to change anything, no matter how small. The only sounds were the waves outside, their breathing, their heartbeats...

He was comfortable, even with the baking sun. Derek's cool skin was the perfect antidote to the heat. Lying across Derek's chest, his arms wound around him, felt very easy and natural. Stiles wondered idly what he'd been so panicky about last night.

His fears all seemed silly now. Derek's fingers softly trailed down the contours of his spine, and Stiles knew that Derek knew he was awake. Stiles kept his eyes shut and tightened his arms around Derek's neck, holding himself closer to him.

Derek didn't speak; his fingers moved up and down Stiles' back, barely touching it as he lightly traced patterns on his skin.

Stiles would have been happy to lie here forever, to never disturb this moment, but his body had other ideas. Stiles laughed at his impatient stomach. It seemed sort of prosaic to be hungry after all that had passed last night. Like being brought back down to earth from some great height.

"What's funny?" Derek murmured, still stroking his back. The sound of his voice, serious and husky, brought with it a deluge of memories from the night, and Stiles felt a blush color his face and neck.

To answer his question, his stomach growled.

Stiles laughed again. "You just can't escape being human for very long." Stiles waited, but Derek did not laugh with him.

Slowly, sinking through the many layers of bliss that clouded his head, came the realization of a different atmosphere outside his own glowing sphere of happiness.

 

Stiles opened his eyes; the first thing Stiles saw was the tan skin of Derek's throat, the arc of his chin above his face. His jaw was taut. Stiles propped myself up on his elbow so Stiles could see Derek's face.

He was staring at the frothy canopy above them, and he didn't look at Stiles as he studied Derek's grave features. His expression was a shock – it sent a physical jolt through Stiles' body. "Derek," Stiles said, a strange little catch in his throat, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You have to ask?" His voice was hard, cynical.

Stiles' first instinct, the product of a lifetime of insecurities, was to wonder what he had done wrong. Stiles thought through everything that had happened, but he couldn't find any sour note in the memory. It had all been simpler than Stiles had expected; they'd fit together like corresponding pieces, made to match up. This had given him a secret satisfaction – they were compatible physically, as well as all the other ways.

Somehow existing together without destroying each other. More  
proof that he belonged with Derek.

Stiles couldn't think of any part that would make Derek look like this – so severe and cold. What had Stiles missed?

Derek's finger smoothed the worried lines on Stiles' forehead.

 

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.  
"You're upset. I don't understand. Did I... ?" Stiles couldn't finish.  
Derek's eyes tightened. "How badly are you hurt, Stiles? The truth – don't try to downplay it."

"Hurt?" Stiles repeated; his voice came out higher than usual because the word took him so by surprise.

Derek raised one eyebrow, his lips a tight line.

Stiles made a quick assessment, stretching his body automatically, tensing and flexing his muscles. There was stiffness, and a lot of soreness, too, it was true, but mostly there was the odd sensation that his bones all had become unhinged at the joints, and Stiles had changed halfway into the consistency of a jellyfish. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

And then Stiles was a little angry, because Derek was darkening this most perfect of all mornings with his pessimistic assumptions.

 

"Why would you jump to that conclusion? I've never been better than I am now."

Derek's eyes closed. "Stop that."  
"Stop what?"

"Stop acting like I'm not a monster for having agreed to this."

"Derek!' Stiles whispered, really upset now. Derek was pulling Stiles' bright memory through the darkness, staining it. "Don't ever say that."

Derek didn't open his eyes; it was like he didn't want to see Stiles.  
"Look at yourself, Stiles. Then tell me I'm not a monster."

Wounded, shocked, Stiles followed Derek's instruction unthinkingly and then gasped.

What had happened to me? Stiles couldn't make sense of the fluffy white snow that clung to his skin. Stiles shook his head, and a cascade of white drifted out of his hair.

Stiles pinched one soft white bit between his fingers. It was a piece of down. "Why am I covered in feathers?" Stiles asked, confused.

Derek exhaled impatiently. "I bit a pillow. Or two. That's not what I'm talking about."

"You... bit a pillow? Why?"

"Look, Stiles!" he almost growled. He took Stiles' hand – very gingerly – and stretched his arm out. "Look at that"

This time, Stiles saw what he meant.

Under the dusting of feathers, large purplish bruises were beginning to blossom across the pale skin of Stiles' arm. His eyes followed the trail they made up to his shoulder, and then down across his ribs. Stiles pulled his hand free to poke at a discoloration on his left forearm, watching it fade where Stiles touched and then reappear.

It throbbed a little.

So lightly that he was barely touching him, Derek placed his hand against the bruises on Stiles' arm, one at a time, matching his long fingers to the patterns.

 

"Oh," Stiles said.

Stiles tried to remember this – to remember pain – but he couldn't. Stiles couldn't recall a moment when Derek's hold had been too tight, his hands too hard against him. He only remembered wanting Derek to hold him tighter, and being pleased when he did....  
"I'm... so sorry, Stiles," he whispered while Stiles stared at the bruises. "I knew better than this. I should not have – " Derek made a low, revolted growl in the back of his throat. "I am more sorry than I can tell you."

Derek threw his arm over his face and became perfectly still.

Stiles sat for one long moment in total astonishment, trying to come to terms – now that he understood it – with Derek's misery. It was so contrary to the way that Stiles felt that it was difficult to process.

The shock wore off slowly, leaving nothing in its absence. Emptiness. His mind was blank. Stiles couldn't think of what to say. How could Stiles explain it to Derek in the right way? How could Stiles make him as happy as he was – or as he had been, a moment ago?

Stiles touched Derek's arm, and he didn't respond. Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek's wrist and tried to pry his arm off his face, but Stiles could have been yanking on a sculpture for all the good it did him.  
"Derek."  
He didn't move.  
"Derek?"  
Nothing. So, this would be a monologue, then.  
"I'm not sorry, Derek. I'm... I can't even tell you. I'm so happy. That doesn't cover it. Don't be angry. Don't. I'm really f – "

"Do not say the word fine." Derek's voice was ice cold. "If you value my sanity, do not say that you are fine."  
"But I am:" Stiles whispered.  
"Stiles," he almost moaned. "Don't."  
"No.You don't, Derek."  
Derek moved his arm; his bright eyes watched Stiles warily.  
"Don't ruin this," Stiles told him. "I. Am. Happy."  
"I've already ruined this," Derek whispered.  
"Cut it out," Stiles snapped.  
Stiles heard Derek's teeth grind together.  
"Ugh!" Stiles groaned. "Why can't you just read his mind already? It's so inconvenient!"  
Derek's eyes widened a little bit, distracted in spite of himself.

"That's a new one. You love that I can't read your mind."  
"Not today."  
Derek stared at him. "Why?"  
Stiles threw his hands up in frustration, feeling an ache in his shoulder that he ignored.

Stiles' palms fell back against Derek's chest with a sharp smack. "Because all this angst would be completely unnecessary if you could see how I feel right now! Or five minutes ago, anyway. I was perfectly happy. Totally and completely blissed out. Now – well, I'm sort of pissed, actually."  
"You should be angry at me."  
"Well, I am. Does that make you feel better?"  
Derek sighed. "No. I don't think anything could make me feel better now."  
"That's it," Stiles snapped. "That right there is why I'm angry. You are killing my buzz, Derek."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.  
Stiles took a deep breath. He was feeling more of the soreness now, but it wasn't that bad. Sort of like the day after lifting weights. Stiles had done more than that at lacrosse practice. Suicides for an hour and a half straight. He couldn't walk the next day. This was not as painful as that had been by half.

Stiles swallowed his irritation and tried to make his voice soothing. "We knew this  
was going to be tricky. I thought that was assumed. And then – well, it was a lot  
easier than I thought it would be. And this is really nothing." Stiles brushed his fingers along his arm. "I think for a first time, not knowing what to expect, we did  
amazing. With a little practice – "

Derek's expression was suddenly so livid that Stiles broke off mid-sentence.

 

"Assumed? Did you expect this, Stiles? Were you anticipating that I would hurt you? Were you thinking it would be worse? Do you consider the experiment a success because you can walk away from it? No broken bones – that equals a victory?"

Stiles waited, letting him get it all out. Then he waited some more while Derek's breathing went back to normal. When his eyes were calm, Stiles answered, speaking with slow precision.

"I didn't know what to expect – but I definitely did not expect how... how... just wonderful and perfect it was." His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes slipped from Derek's face down to his hands. "I mean, I don't know how it was for you, but it was like that for me."

Derek's finger pulled Stiles' chin back up.

"Is that what you're worried about?" he said through his teeth. "That I didn't enjoy myself?"

Stiles' eyes stayed down. "I know it's not the same. You're not human. I just was trying to explain that, for a human, well, I can't imagine that life gets any better than that."

He was quiet for so long that, finally, Stiles had to look up. His face was softer now, thoughtful.

"It seems that I have more to apologize for." He frowned. "I didn't dream that you would construe the way I feel about what I did to you to mean that last night wasn't... well, the best night of my existence. But I don't want to think of it that way, not when you were ..."

Stiles lips curved up a little at the edges. "Really? The best ever?" he asked in a small voice.

Derek took Stiles' face between his hands, still introspective. "I spoke to Deaton after you and I made our bargain, hoping he could help me. Of course he warned me that this would be very dangerous for you." A shadow crossed his expression. "He had faith in me, though – faith I didn't deserve."

Stiles started to protest, and Derek put two fingers over Stiles' lips before he could comment.

"I also asked him what I should expect. I didn't know what it would be for me...  
what with my being a werewolf." He smiled halfheartedly. "Deaton told me it was  
a very powerful thing, like nothing else. He told me physical love was something I  
should not treat lightly. With our instincts, strong emotions  
can alter us in permanent ways. But he said I did not need to worry about that  
part – you had already altered me so completely." This time Derek's smile was more genuine.

"I spoke to Peter, too. He told me it was a very great pleasure. Second  
only to recognizing the scent of a mate before you even catch sight of them." A line creased his brow. "But your scent is more potent than that... I don't think they  
were wrong, really. Just that it was different for us. Something more."

"It was more. It was everything."

"That doesn't change the fact that it was wrong. Even if it were possible that you  
really did feel that way."

"What does that mean? Do you think I'm making this up? Why?"

"To ease my guilt. I can't ignore the evidence, Stiles. Or your history of trying to  
let me off the hook when I make mistakes."

Stiles grabbed his chin and leaned forward so that their faces were inches apart. "You listen to me, Derek Hale. I am not pretending anything for your sake, okay? I didn't even know there was a reason to make you feel better until you started being all miserable. I've never been so happy in all my life – I wasn't this happy  
when you decided that you loved me more than you wanted to kill me, or the first morning I woke up and you were there waiting for me.... Not when I heard your voice in the police station" – Derek flinched at the old memory of when Isaac had cornered Stiles at the police station shortly after Derek had become Alpha, but Stiles didn't pause – "or when you said i do' and I realized that, somehow, I get to keep you forever. Those are the happiest memories I have, and this is better than any of it. So just deal with it."

Derek touched the frown line between Stiles' eyebrows.  
"I'm making you unhappy now. I don't want to do that."

"Then don't you be unhappy. That's the only thing that's wrong here."  
Derek's eyes tightened, then he took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right. The past is past and I can't do anything to change it. There's no sense in letting my mood sour this time for you. I'll do whatever I can to make you happy now."  
Stiles examined Derek's face suspiciously, and he gave Derek a serene smile.  
"Whatever makes me happy?"

Stiles' stomach growled at the same time that he asked.  
"You're hungry," Derek said quickly. He was swiftly out of the bed, stirring up a  
cloud of feathers. Which reminded Stiles.

"So, why exactly did you decide to ruin the pillows?" He asked, sitting up and  
shaking more down from his hair.

Derek had already pulled on a pair of loose khaki pants, and he stood by the door,  
rumpling his hair, dislodging a few feathers of his own.

"I don't know if I decided to do anything last night," he muttered. "We're just  
lucky it was the pillows and not you." He inhaled deeply and then shook his head,  
as if shaking off the dark thought. A very authentic-looking smile spread across  
his face, but Stiles guessed it took a lot of work to put it there.

Stiles slid carefully off the high bed and stretched again, more aware, now, of the  
aches and sore spots. Stiles heard Derek gasp. He turned away from Stiles, and his hands balled up, knuckles white, claws out.

"Do I look that hideous?" Stiles asked, working to keep his tone light. Derek's breath caught, but he didn't turn. Stiles figured it was probably to hide his expression from him. He walked to the bathroom to check for himself.  
Stiles stared at his naked body in the full-length mirror behind the door.

He'd definitely had worse. There was a faint shadow across one of his cheekbones,  
and his lips were a little swollen, but other than that, his face was fine. The rest of  
him was decorated with patches of blue and purple. Stiles concentrated on the bruises that would be the hardest to hide – his arms and his shoulders. They weren't so bad. His skin marked up easily. By the time a bruise showed he'd usually forgotten how he'd come by it. Of course, these were just developing. He'd look even worse tomorrow. That would not make things any easier.  
Stiles looked at his hair, then, and groaned.

"Stiles?" Derek was right there behind him as soon as he'd made a sound.  
"I'll never get this all out of my hair!" Stiles pointed to his head, where it looked like a chicken was nesting. He started picking at the feathers.

"You would be worried about your hair," Derek mumbled, but he came to stand behind Stiles, pulling out the feathers much more quickly.

"How did you keep from laughing at this? I look ridiculous."  
Derek didn't answer; he just kept plucking. And Stiles knew the answer anyway – there was nothing that would be funny to him in this mood.

'This isn't going to work," Stiles sighed after a minute. "It's all dried in. I'm going to have to try to wash it out." He turned around, wrapped his arms around Derek's waist. "Do you want to help me?"

"I'd better find some food for you," he said in a quiet voice, and Derek gently unwound Stiles' arms. Stiles sighed as Derek disappeared, moving too fast.  
"It looks like my honeymoon is over." Stiles thought to himself. The thought put a big lump in his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest I was shocked with how much like a Sterek fanfiction this read out. After I'd changed the names I read it again and forgotten almost completely that this had originally be Edward/Bella instead.


End file.
